Page 53 of Pregnant By A Rich Demon 3

My choice. My doctor. My appointment.

No one from the Landry family knew I was here. Not Amai. Not Kaisen. Not Winston.

Just me.

The receptionist smiled warmly when I checked in. She didn’t ask questions when I said I’d be paying cash. Didn’t bat an eye when I requested that no information be released to anyone without my written permission.

She just nodded and said, “We’ll take good care of you, Ms. Renois.”

And for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe.

The door to the back opened, and a nurse appeared—young, Black, with box braids pulled into a high ponytail.

“Truth Renois?”

I stood, my purse clutched tight in my hands, and followed her down a hallway lined with framed photos of babies and families.

Real families.

Not contracts. Not surrogacy arrangements. Not power plays.

Just… families.

The exam room was small but clean, with pale blue walls and a large window that let in natural light. The ultrasound machine sat in the corner, its screen dark and waiting.

“Go ahead and have a seat,” the nurse said, gesturing to the exam table. “Dr. Broussard will be with you in just a moment. Do you need anything? Water? Crackers?”

“I’m okay. Thank you.”

She smiled and closed the door softly behind her.

I sat on the edge of the exam table, the paper crinkling beneath me, and stared at my hands.

My fingers were trembling.

I pressed them together, willing them to stop, but the anxiety was too big. Too consuming.

What if the babies weren’t okay?

What if something was wrong?

What if⁠—

The door opened, and a woman stepped inside.

She was tall, maybe in her early fifties, with deep brown skin and natural hair styled in a short, elegant cut. She wore navy scrubs and a white coat, her stethoscope draped around her neck. Her eyes were sharp but warm, assessing but kind.

“Ms. Renois.” She extended her hand, and I shook it. Her grip was firm, confident. “I’m Dr. Camille Broussard. It’s good to meet you.”

“You too.”

She pulled a rolling stool over and sat down, her movements unhurried. She opened the tablet in her hands and glanced at the screen, then back at me.

“I’ve reviewed the information you provided when you called,” she said. “And I want to start by saying that this is a safe space. Whatever you need, whatever questions you have—I’m here to help. My only priority is you and your babies’ health. Understood?”

I nodded, my throat tight.

“Good.” She set the tablet aside and leaned forward slightly. “Now, let’s talk about what’s going on. You’re carrying twins, correct?”